Feathered F-Ups
by BronzeDove
Summary: Today, Arthur Kirkland, the personification of The Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, learned a valuable lesson—don't bring your magic-wielding elder siblings to a world meeting and expect them to behave.


_November 17, 2014_

 _12: 15pm_

 _United Nations Headquarters, Geneva, Switzerland_

Today, Arthur Kirkland, the personification of The Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, learned a valuable lesson—don't bring your magic-wielding elder siblings to a world meeting and expect them to behave.

In reality, it wasn't really Scotland's fault that over a dozen nations were transported to an alternate dimension, but he should know not to try to curse England's tea when America is around—the North American really doesn't understand the concept of not interrupting spells (or people).

So, when the magic went haywire and the world exploded (not really, it was just really bright), England swore that when they got out of the mess they were in, he was locking his siblings in the basement and never letting them out.

But now, we need to get back to the story.

Arthur groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the light. Looking out, the blonde had to stifle a gasp. He was sitting on what seemed to be an overhang on a mountain that was looking out at a sprawling emerald valley. A glittering blue river weaved it's way through the trees and spilled out into a cerulean lake. The wind fluttered past Arthur's ears like a whisper as it blew across the mountain range.

Okay, maybe this wasn't so bad.

Suddenly, a groan from behind Arthur caught his attention. Whipping his head around, the emerald-eyed man noticed that America was starting to sit up a few feet behind him along with a plethora of other nations.

They were all dressed in neutral colored trousers with similarly colored tunics. None of them had any shoes either, which was strange but that wasn't what Arthur was focused on. No—Arthur was focused on the feathery appendages sprouting from each of his fellow personifications backs.

The British man locked eyes with the American teen. "Oh, hey Ig-" Alfred paused, eyes big as saucers. "Sweet Mother Theresa on the hood of a Mercedes Benz!" He shouted. "Artie! You have wings!"

"You do too, you bloody git!" The Englishman shouted back as other nations started shouting in surprise as well.

True to the statement, Alfred had sprawling golden-brown wings protruding from his back. Behind America, Russia was inspecting his white and black-speckled wings while his sisters were stroking their similarly colored red-beige wings.

Further back, Germany was looking at North Italy's auburn wings while the Italian did the same to his light-grey pair.

Most shocking of all was Canada (yes, England could see his son), the six-foot-tall Canadian had huge grey wings that dwarfed everyone else's. The inside of the wing was a light shade of grey with darker speckles while the tops were a dark grey-blue akin to the color of a thunderhead. Compared to Russia, even though the other arctic nation had a good four inches of height on Matthew, the Canadians wings still were over three feet bigger than the others snowy white ones.

Alfred turned to look where Arthur was staring, barely able to keep his jaw from dropping. Alfred watched in astonishment as his shy elder brothers eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The Canadian started to roll his shoulders experimentally, smiling as he felt his wing move.

The other nations, having heard the constant fighting that came from the American and Englishman stop, turned to see what was going on, only to watch in similar astonishment as Matthew, who was in his own little world, figured out his wings.

Alfred smiled when he saw Matthew take an experimental flap. Too entranced by what was happening, the southern brother didn't even utter a word.

Matthew tried again, his right wing flapping downwards before his left, throwing him off balance. Frowning, the blonde tried again, stumbling but laughing as they beat in sync with each other.

Finally, Alfred broke the silence and ran to his brother, laughing as he picked him up and hugged him. "Mattie! That was awesome!"

"Maple!" The Canadian cried as his brother squeezed him, earning laughs from some of the other nations.

"Big Bruder, look!" Exclaimed a sweet voice. Everyone turned to see whom it was, clapping as they watched tiny little Liechtenstein give her rust-colored wings a flap.

After every nation was able to move their wings, China asked a reasonable question.

"Where are we, aru?"

Wow China, way to kill the mood.

"Well," Norway began as he looked at the Asian man standing near him. "I'm not sure how we got here but it seems we were transported to another dimension."

A few nations groaned and sat down in exasperation while others (South Italy) swore.

England started talking once everyone quieted down again. "That would be this wankers fault." He said as he grabbed his red-haired brother.

"Ye, but it wouldn't 'a done anythin' if Al hadn't 'a interrupted me." The Scotsman reasoned as he smacked England's hand away.

Alfred cried out in mock hurt. "Uncle Alistair! You'd throw your own favorite nephew under the bus!?"

Before Scotland could reply, Canada piped up. "Look, who cares whose fault it is… Besides, everyone knows _I'm_ the favorite nephew."

" _Mathieu!_ " France exclaimed.

"Désolé Papa, but it's true."

Alfred growled and caught the Canadian in a headlock, ignoring the violet-eyed boys protest.

Australia and New Zealand stepped forwards, Australia crossing his arms in disagreement. "Excuse you mate, but we're the favorite nephews."

Suddenly, Hong Kong stepped forwards (he'd been attending the meeting with Iceland). "Nope. I'm better than all of you." He stated monotonously.

"I second that notion." Iceland interjected.

Alfred scowled. "I'm the favorite because I'm the strongest!" He huffed.

New Zealand rolled his eyes. "Well, we are the best behaved out of all of you so we win."

"I'm the cutest so that makes me the best." Hong Kong countered.

Canada laughed. "Well, I'm the oldest so that makes me the best."

Seychelles popped up from behind France, who was massaging his temples; this was a normal occurrence in the family.

"Well," Seychelles chirped. "I'm the favorite niece!"

"YOU'RE THE ONLY NIECE!" The five boys shouted.

Iceland walked up to stand beside Hong Kong, ready to defend his boyfriends honor. "Canada, you're only the eldest because Norway and I found you first so without us you wouldn't be the oldest, therefore your argument is invalid and Hong Kong wins."

"What the heck Ice!? You're supposed to vote for your family!"

"Yes, but I really like my boyfriend too."

Matthew pushed away from Alfred—who was now arguing with Australia. "Fine, you want to play that way." Canada argued back. "LARS!"

Suddenly, Netherlands popped up behind Matthew. "Yes dear?" He asked, caramel-colored wings dragging behind him.

"Who's better, Hong Kong or me?"

"You." Lars responded gruffly.

Denmark snickered from behind Iceland, making a whipping noise as he watched how Lars acted around the Canadian.

Iceland's ashen feathers ruffled in annoyance as he scowled at Canada while Netherlands flipped off the Dane.

Russia, who was standing beside America turned and looked at Iceland. "Matvey is better."

At that instant, Alfred turned around and scowled at Ivan. "Dude, not cool! You're taking Matt's side over your own boyfriend!"

"Da." Ivan replied with a smile. "Your brother is a very scary person when he wants to be. I'm sorry sunflower, but he's more threatening than you."

Alfred scoffed. "I hope you enjoy sleeping alone."

"Come on Fredka…." Ivan whined while Hong Kong and Netherlands watched their boyfriends fight.

England was currently smacking Scotland for starting this while the rest of their brothers cheered him on. Denmark was shamelessly making out with Norway while Sweden and Finland built a stick castle with Sealand, who'd suck into the meeting with his parents and gotten dragged into this mess as well. The Asian sibling were all screaming at each other in mandarin while Liechtenstein was riding on Prussia's shoulders (no one even questions how the ex-nation is always around). Austria and Hungary were arguing with Germany about North Italy while North Italy and Spain were dancing around South Italy. Seychelles was getting her hair braided by Belgium, who was getting her hair braided by Belarus, who was getting her hair braided by Ukraine who was getting her hair cornrowed by Monaco. Australia was tickling New Zealand while Hanatamago, Kumajiro, Pumpkin the Koala, Mr. Puffin, Ringo the Dragon, Flying Mint Bunny, Gilbird, Pierre, Shaun the Sheep and Winfred the sheep slept in the corner.

China, you precious cinnamon roll, look at what you've done.

America stopped scolding Russia for long enough to watch Switzerland, who had managed to stay out of the fight, lose his cool.

"SHUT UP!" He yelled, face going red in anger.

"Or what?" A random nation (Prussia) called. "You'll beat us with your peace prize?"

The Aryan nation spun to look at Prussia, who'd since put down Liechtenstein. "Yes I will!"

Gilbert put his hands up in mock surrender, taking a step back.

Switzerland took a deep breath and straightened out his shirt. "I don't care how we got here or who the favorite nephew is. What I care about is that we are all stuck on a cliff with no way down and no way to get food."

Suddenly, America grinned and clapped his hands, walking up to Switzerland and throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Switzy, Switzy, Switzy…. Don't you get it? We have wings and we were put on a cliff. Don't you think that some divine influence put us here so that we could fly down?"

Vash shrugged Alfred's arm off him and rolled his eyes while Canada gave a slow clap.

"Congratulations Alfie, that's the single most intelligent thing you've said in forty years."

"Why thank you Mattie." Alfred said as he turned around to face the rest of the nations, completely ignoring the insult sent his way. "And who better to have the honor of the first flight then," He continued, spreading his arms to theatrically show off the expanse of blue sky behind him. "My little brother Matthew."

"Exactly!" Matthew replied as he thought over the sentence. Suddenly, his face grew pale and Matthew looked at Alfred. "Wait what!?"

Alas 'twas too late for young Matthew, for his brother had already appeared behind him, pushing him to the cliff edge and backing away.

"Wait! No!" Canada yelled as he scrambled away from the edge, only to be met by a wall of people. "America I can't do this!"

Alfred smiled and gave his brother the thumbs up. "Of course you can!" Alfred cheered. "Who was it who taught my air force how to fly?"

Matthew turned and looked at his brother in confusion. "I did?"

"Jeez Matt, be more confident." Alfred chided. "Of course it was you! And whose pilots shot down the Red Barron?"

"Mine."

"There you go Matt! Now who is the only nation to have burnt down the white house?"

Matthew grinned. "Me, and if you don't get me away from this ledge I'll do it again." The Canadian threatened.

"See! You can do a lot of things Matt! I know you can do this to!" Alfred replied, ignoring the jab at the White House.

"Alfie, please just let me through!" Canada whined, flapping his wing in irritation.

"Come on Matt!" Alfred cried in exasperation. "Remember that time you thought it'd be a bad idea to dress up in your World War One uniform and scare Germany?! Remember when you did it anyways and how much fun you had?"

Germany blushed when Alfred brought that up while everyone else smiled in appreciation as they thought back to the time macho-man Ludwig yelped like a child at seeing the peace-loving Canadian wearing his green beret.

"Whatever Alfred! I don't want to!" Matthew yelled, crossing his arms in disagreement.

Suddenly Alfred scowled and put his hands on his hips. "Fine then Matt. You leave me with no choice."

Before anyone knew what was happening, Alfred started clucking and flapping his wings like a chicken. That's right people, Alfred F. Jones, our lovable man-child, was walking around and clucking like a demented chicken. Someone give the boy an Emmy.

Unable to pass up the opportunity, Gilbert joined in, flapping his silver wings and clucking with America. Before long, Denmark, South Italy, Australia and Wales were all clucking in front of the blushing Canadian.

"Fine!" Canada yelled. "I'll do it just please stop!" He continued as he covered his face in embarrassment.

Alfred cheered and the clucking stopped as everyone back up to give Matthew room for his wings.

Stepping back a bit, Matthew racked his brain for what it looked like when a bird took off compared to when a jet took off. It couldn't be that hard to do right… Baby birds had to jump out of their nests to fly, can't be too different.

Taking a deep breath, Canada angled his wings in a fashion that would most likely angle his descent and keep him from plummeting to his doom. Pulling down his aviator goggles that had somehow survived the dimension switch, the blonde took a running start off the cliff.

"Geronimo!" He yelled as he disappeared.

There was a moment of silence among the nations after Canada jumped, and then America spoke.

"If Mattie dies, I'm annexing Toronto and taking the Blue Jays."

SMACK!

"That's your brother you wanker!"

What, might you ask, was Canada's boyfriend doing through all of this? Well, Lars, the personification of The Netherlands was playing with his scarf.

 **Wow… This was meant to be serious but I just can't write anything that's not crack. Sorry.**

 **Leave a review if you think I should write another chapter.**

 **Autumn-chan out!**


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